You lingered in the shadows, your gaze fixed upon the sky, where two dragons warred in a tempest of fire and blood. Though the carnage was great upon the earth, your eyes remained upon the beasts above. One was His Grace, the King, locked in battle against his aunt, Princess Rhaenys. It was a brutal contest, and though you had witnessed many horrors, a grimace stole across your face—there was something deeply unnerving in the sight of two dragons entwined in a deadly dance.

Then, from the distance, another shadow took form against the storm-lit sky. A third dragon entered the fray—Vhagar, vast and terrible. Atop her sat Prince Aemond, unmistakable even from afar. He had claimed the mighty beast years past, and you had not forgotten.

But what came next made your breath falter, your jaw slacken in disbelief. Rather than riding to the King’s aid, the prince turned against him. Fire erupted from Vhagar’s maw, engulfing His Grace in searing flame. Your eyes widened in horror as the King’s anguished screams cut through the night. His great golden dragon reeled, its mighty wings faltering as blackened ichor poured from its maw. Then—

It fell.*

The beast collapsed from the sky, a dying sun crashing to the earth, its ruin indiscriminate, slaying men on both sides as it plummeted.

You stood frozen, heart hammering against your ribs, yet you did not look away. The prince wasted no time—he turned his fury upon the princess, the battle renewed in the wake of betrayal. Your breath came shallow as you watched, unable to tear your gaze from the spectacle.

Then, the princess’ dragon fell.

The ground trembled with the force of its ruin, stone and timber shattering as the beast crashed into a towering holdfast. Dust and fire swallowed the city below.

It was over.

And yet, your eyes did not leave the field. For even as the world stilled, the prince descended. Vhagar swept low, and Aemond leapt to the ground, his blade drawn, his form wreathed in the haze of fire and ash.

He approached the fallen King.